


Taking Care of the Ladies

by Spot_On60



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team (TV), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 13:08:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spot_On60/pseuds/Spot_On60
Summary: Running with the ball passed by LB. Picking up where she left off.





	Taking Care of the Ladies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pasmore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pasmore/gifts), [loves_books](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/gifts).

You may want to read LB’s story “The Only Man” before this one by clicking [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461748/chapters/47461696).

**Taking Care of the Ladies**

“Allow me.”

With the glass door held open she easily crossed the threshold without incident. Thankful for the young man who had appeared out of nowhere, stepping in for the absent doorman as her mind tried to conjure exactly how she would shift packages, allowing her to pull the rather heavy door herself. Her hands were laden with shopping bags, two for each. She had already consolidated her newly acquired treasures into these four large shoppers. They had been difficult enough to manage as she strolled from store to store. But now, with a well deserved headache they were simply unmanageable.

Foisting them into the cab ahead of herself proved to be a piece of cake, it was the getting back out that caused the problem. She carefully dragged them across to the curbside of the seat. The driver made no indication he would step out and give a lady a hand. Matter of fact, looked a bit annoyed at having to wait for her to exit.

With all of the handles in her mitts she stood upright, directly into the doorframe. Stumbling backward she made a quick assessment. The point on the back of her head where it made contact with steel was still in the sharp faze of the pain register. It came to her she was standing on the sidewalk, burdened with bags, eyes shut. Afraid of opening them with a thought to whether she could see straight, or if the world would have a wavering quality, such as when one opened their eyes underwater.

She peaked with one. Everything was fine. With the cab door wide open she was pleased to see the driver had finally made a move to help with the situation. She smiled wide as he skipped around the hood. The bags in the left hand were considerably more weighted than those on the right. A quick decision had her holding out the bags in her right hand. After all, she could then carry a single bag in each hand.

Hand up, presenting the parcels, some of the stress of the preceding few moments draining away she absolutely gushed, “Thank you so much.”

The cabby, still alongside his taxi, didn’t look her way or even acknowledge she had spoken to him. Instead he slammed the door shut, continuing on to complete a full circuit ending back at the driver’s door. Seated again he shot into a small break in the traffic without a single look back.

Becky Armstrong hated these gatherings. A quiet woman she would have rather been home with her daughter and grandchildren. Instead, here she was standing befuddled on the sidewalk in front of an overly, for her tastes, opulent hotel. Before she had done her level best to produce a concussion that would require her to return home, she had seen no doorman standing in the usual haunt under the awning. Looking around she thought it just figured he hadn’t returned, bringing her final insult in the form of being forced to grapple with packages and doors.

She steadied herself and hoped the sensation she was feeling on the back of her head wasn’t blood trickling from an open wound. More concerned about the white blouse she wore, she trudged toward the entrance, thinking she could have just as easily, more easily in fact, mail ordered the treasures she’d purchased for her grandchildren.

Barely registering the young man as he passed her by, she couldn’t have been happier to see him standing aside, door held open.

“Allow me.”

As she passed through she could hear him continue to speak.

“Let me help with your bags.”

As soon as Becky was relieved of the bags from her right hand she began to list to the left. An arm carefully yet firmly guided her toward the closest club chair available in the expansive hotel lobby. “Please, sit.”

“No, I’m fine. Really.”

“I saw you get out of the cab. You really smacked your head. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I ... I don’t really know. I think so.”

“Would it be alright if I look at your head?”

“Oh no. I’d rather not. It hurts terribly and ...”

“I won’t touch it. I promise. But if it’s bleeding we should know. Sit.”

“Well, okay. But please don’t touch it.”

“Scouts honor,” was given the golden seal by his two fingered salute.

How could she protest further when he turned on that megawatt smile.

“Nope. No bleeding.” Again facing her, he crouched before her. “Close your eyes, please.”

“Why?”

“I want to check your pupil reaction,” he said with a tilt of his head.

“Are you a doctor?”

“No,” was said with a light chuckle. “But my line of work requires me to know a certain amount of first aid. Now close your eyes.”

She did.

“Now open them quickly.”

Their response was neither sluggish nor uneven. “Looks okay. Are you here alone?”

“No I’m with my husband.”

“Maybe we should call him?”

“Oh no. That’s not necessarily. Besides, he’s busy. He has meetings all day.” She gingerly touched her head and winced.

“You have some pain reliever with you?”

“I have Aleve in my room.”

“Nope. Won’t do.”

“It’s fine. I’ve used it for years,” she insisted.

“I hope not for injuries.” He received a questioning look. “Naproxen. It’s a blood thinner, like aspirin. If you have a possibility of bleeding, you need to stay away from them.” He stood and gave her an order. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

“This is lovely, don’t you think?” Karen asked the salesclerk.

“Mmmhm,” the bored young woman expressed her non-commitment.

Karen held up the one-piece swimsuit. The more she looked at the complex figure enhancing design the more she thought it was more of a pipe dream than something for serious consideration. She moved to return the creation to the rack when her eye was caught by a coordinating length of fabric. “What’s this?”

“Some kind of skirt that goes with it.”

Karen held it up. “It’s a sarong,” she said with a smile which again quickly faded. “I’m probably a little old for this,” she conceded mostly to herself with a sigh.

The salesclerk’s attention was now firmly on the handsome man who had entered the hotel’s lobby shop. Distracted, she replied, “You’re probably right. You get to a certain age and well, you know.” She dismissed Karen with an, “Excuse me,” and made a beeline for the other customer. Stepping beside the man with eyes of a color she’d never seen before she asked, “May I help you find anything?” Enthusiasm for the public had finally shown up for work.

“No. I’m good,” he said flashing a bright smile. Shaking the bottle of acetaminophen, he stepped around her, heading for the counter and cash register.

Karen stood there waiting to pay, a bag of M&Ms set in front of her. The girl rushed ahead to her place behind the counter. Again saying, “Excuse me,” to Karen she held her hand out to the gentleman prepared to take his jar of painkillers to ring up.

He ignored her. Instead his attention went to Karen. “Where’s your swimsuit and sarong?”

A little flustered, she only said, “It wasn’t really right for me.”

“Can I tell you a little something?” the man began. “There are few things more attractive to men than a woman who has ... let’s say, experience.” He leaned in a little. “That tends to go without saying when a gentleman catches a glimpse of,” he shot a look at the salesclerk, “... a woman of a certain age.” He saw a blush rising in Karen’s face. Tipping his head slightly he asked, “Do you know the words of wisdom Warren Zevon gave to David Letterman?”

Surprised with herself, she _did_ know. “Enjoy every sandwich.”

He smiled and pointed with another tip of his head in the direction of the swimsuit display, “Can’t very well enjoy a sandwich if you haven’t got one.”

Karen’s head was now turned, gazing across to the display.

“The lady was ahead of me,” he said to the clerk who was also blushing, though for far different reasons, then added to Karen, “Unless you have more shopping to do.”

“Hear we go. Tylenol,” he said as he approached Becky still sitting where he’d left her. “Put these in your purse and don’t forget to take a couple when you get upstairs. “Let me get you a bellhop to carry your bags. I’m sure you don’t want some random guy you met in a hotel lobby escorting you to your room.” The last few words were said with a laugh.

“Let me pay you for these.”

“Naw. I’ll have someone sent over.”

She watched him approach the desk. As he spoke with the concierge he pointed across the lobby to her adding a wave and a smile. Expecting him to leave the hotel she was interested to see him instead go to the elevator banks. Stepping inside an open car he reached for a floor button. As the doors closed she saw he had fished a room keycard from his wallet.

Carrie lay comfortably on a lounge having arranged everything within reach. Her sunscreen was beside a tall, sweating glass of ice tea. A beach towel hung over the elevated back of the lounger drying in the sun, a straw hat and flowing coverup were at her feet. A paperback of Dean Koontz’s The Door to December in hand was held up and off to the side, elbow supported by the arm of the lounger at just the right angle as to avoid casting a shadow on her tight, young, and increasingly more tanned body.

“May I sit here?”

She wasn’t interest in a poolside pickup. Switching the book to her left hand hoping to make the wedding band and ginormous diamond on her finger obvious, she answered, “Suit yourself.”

“Thanks.”

Her eyes were no longer skimming side to side along the page, she concentrated on the movement in her periphery. When her unwelcome companion had settled she only managed another paragraph before the inevitable occurred. This guy wanted to talk.

“Have you read Watchers?” he asked.

“No,” she responded coolly.

“If you like Dean Koontz you gotta reader Watchers. It’s my favorite book of his. I saw the one you’re reading down in the gift shop. Is it any good?”

“I can’t answer that if I can’t read it.”

Not seeming offended, she could hear the smile on his face when he said, “Got it.”

She thought to herself _I don’t think you do or you wouldn’t be smiling_. That thought changed to _Damn! Look at that_ when he walked to the edge of the pool, contemplating the blue ripples.

Skirting along the concrete corner he lifted his arms, stretching this way and that causing more muscles than Carrie knew existed along the chest and ribs of a man to flex under already lightly tanned skin. Without first dropping a toe to the surface he dove in not resurfacing until he’d reached the buoyed rope separating the deep from shallow ends. Rather than try to navigate the kids splashing and screaming on the other side of the rope, he instead rolled in the water. Using the drop off for purchase he pushed off only enough to give himself a start before settling into a comfortably paced crawl.

Carrie hadn’t proceeded much farther in her book when the gleaming wet figure rose from the pool, pushing himself upward by his hands. Shaking his head, beads of chlorinated water flew in arcs around him. Wet feet slapping to the lounger beside Carrie, he wiped down with the towel he had dumped there.

“I’m getting a soda. Can I get you anything while I’m up?”

“No,” she answered, a little kinder now.

He eyed her almost empty plastic highball cup. “It’s not a problem. I’m going anyway.”

“Okay. Sure. You could get an iced tea. No sugar no lemon.”

Handing the fresh beverage over he asked, “You on vacation?”

“No. My husband is here for meetings. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Me too! You know. Just along for the ride.” That’s when she first saw his wedding band.

“So is your wife in the military or is there another conference here?”

“My husband’s in the military. We both are.”

“Oh.” Her tone truly surprised.

He had settled on his lounger and was taking a slug from his glass. She was feeling less uncomfortable and ventured further. “So you’re the reason why all the activity literature for the week is labeled ‘Spouse’ and ‘Companions’ instead of ‘Wives.’”

He laughed. “There was supposed to be another couple of guys here, but they ditched at the last minute. Pfft, broken leg...”

“Well I can’t tell you how nice it is to meet you.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m a bit of an outsider at these things.” He didn’t answer, but looked expectantly for her to continue. “My husband’s a little older than me.”

“Mine too. Seventeen years.”

“You’ve got me beat. Mine’s fourteen years.” She took a sip of her tea. “Either way, the only other two of these I went to, all the other wives were older and didn’t have much to say to me. I really didn’t want to come but Peter, that’s my husband, said if nothing else it would be a fun trip to New York City.”

“Don’t let it getcha down.” He placed his tanning goggles over his eyes. “Ya got me.”

They hadn’t spent more than five minutes quietly and amiably soaking up rays before a woman approached and cleared her throat. Carrie looked up from her book to see a slightly rounded, middle aged woman standing before them wearing a cheerful bathing suit half covered by a sarong.

Goggles set aside he hadn’t been able to speak quickly enough before the woman, smiling wide, asked if the lovely young lady was his wife.

“No. We just met, but look at you! You’ve made it even more beautiful.”

“Oh stop.” She motioned off to a group of women sitting under an umbrella at a table across the way. “We’re ordering sandwiches. Thought you may want to enjoy one with us,” she said with a wink.

He looked to the group and immediately recognized Becky. “Hey. Are you all military spouses?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“So are we.”

“Both of you?” She asked of Carrie

“Yes.” Carrie waited for the brushoff.

It didn’t come. Instead a hand was extended, “I’m Karen,” she said enthusiastically. “Please come join us.”

“Um...Okay.”

With their belongings in hand they were led to the group of a half dozen women all happy to welcome the newcomers. Becky told the story of the knight in shining armor she had met in the lobby. Karen noted that must have been the same time they met in the gift shop.

“Sounds like you get around,” Carrie added to peals of laughter.

“I didn’t catch your name,” one woman stated.

“Lieutenant Templeton Peck,” he said dipping his chin. “But everyone calls me Face.”

Karen leaned into Carrie and whispered, “I can see why.”

General Robert’s wife Paula was working up as much of a sweat as Face. The two owned the dance floor. The LT couldn’t be happier. He was in the company of a bevy of women each happy to join him on the floor.

It was more the vibration in his pocket than the sound of the ringtone calling Face’s attention to his phone. “Hey! Whatcha doing?”

“We’re done for today. Calling about dinner. There’s a reservation here in the dining room for us. Everyone.”

“No can do, Boss!” he shouted into his phone and mouthed _Hannibal_ to his dance partner. “I’m a little tied up!”

“Where are you?” Hannibal found himself yelling into his own phone as the beat of the music pounding from it all but vibrated it out of his hand.

“I have no idea!” Face took Paula’s hand, gliding along it until they held each other’s fingertips. With both of their hands above her head Face twirled her inward. Guiding their hands down, Paula fitted beside him. Her arm crossed in front of herself while Face’s crossed her back, still in possession of her fingers. As they swayed in time to the music Face asked if she knew where they were.

“Beats the hell out of me!” was her shouted reply.

“I don’t know, Boss, but they have a hellava dance floor!”

Hannibal heard the music change. One song didn’t die down, rather the next played over the end seamlessly blending the two, from studio fresh to a classic. He could make out Let’s Dance behind Face shouting, “Hey you have red shoes!”

“What?” He must have misheard.

“Not you! Paula! I gotta go! It’s kinda rude to ask a lady to dance then talk on the phone! Don’t wait up!”

And he was gone.

Hannibal looked at his phone for an answer, but it didn’t know who Paula was either.

As Face spun around, he saw his companions either talking on their phones or answering them, just like Paula was now doing without missing a beat of the music.

Even before opening his eyes he knew Hannibal wasn’t at his side. He rolled, stretching his legs and rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t sure so he lifted the sheet that came only to his waist. Yup, he was naked all right. It was unusual. He always wore at least his boxer briefs to bed, that is unless... If that were the case he thought it was a waste. He didn’t remember making love to Hannibal after stumbling to bed.

“Good morning.”

Face wrapped his hands around his head. Those two words, even spoken softly, caused throbbing to bounce around inside his skull.

“Here. Here’s a couple of painkillers.” This was said barely above a whisper and seemed to settle better.

Face took the two tablets and sipped the offered water to wash them down. Hannibal was fully dressed sitting beside him on the bed, one of his large hands set carefully on a thigh.

“What time is it?”

“Sevenish.”

“Give me a few minutes. We can go for breakfast.”

“You stay put. Already ate. I ordered room service. Got you pancakes and sausage. Figured you could heat them up in the microwave later.”

“Okay. Sounds like a plan.” His eyes were closed again. He felt he would doze.

“What’s up for today?” Hannibal was now standing in front of the mirror tying his tie.

“I can’t remember. It’s either a bus tour of the city or flower arranging here in the hotel.”

Hannibal huffed a fond chuckle picturing his man, always game, learning the finer points of floral arrangements. “Have a good time last night?”

“Yeah. It was a blast.” Face was rolling on his side, facing the center of the bed.

He startled a bit when Hannibal spoke close to his ear. “You know the guys were a little worried last night.” He was leaning over Face, both hands on the bed, one in front of Face, one behind.

“How come?”

“Seems the ladies all mentioned a gentleman they were with when we called everyone about dinner.”

“That’s weird. I didn’t see anyone.”

“Apparently they picked him up at the pool. They’re all worried about this Lothario taking advantage of their women.”

“That’s really strange. I was with them at the pool too. Didn’t notice anyone.” He burrowed his face further into the pillow. “Tell ‘em not to worry. I’ll keep an eye on everyone,” was mumbled into the pillow.

Hannibal smiled and placed a kiss along his temple. “I’ll be sure to let them know the ladies are safe in your care.”

*******************

**This is in reply to a prompt and a continuation of LB’s work: **

**Bits and Pieces - Chapter Eight: The Only Man**

[ **https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461748/chapters/47461696** ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461748/chapters/47461696)

**I may have tweeked the prompt just a bit by introducing Carrie.**

**Anyone else up for continuing on?**

**LB has added another effort to this prompt. You can read it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19461748/chapters/48864992#main). **

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation from Pasmore’s prompt.
> 
> Hannibal is invited to a conference with some army brass and unusually, partners are invited along to enjoy the venue. As a partner, Face isn’t allowed to participate in the talks but is expected to socialise with the other partners. When all the other partners turn out to be older ladies, Hannibal is worried that Face will be bored and get into mischief, but Face soon has the ladies completely charmed and enjoying themselves immensely. How does he do it?


End file.
